


need you like water in my lungs

by WitchyBee



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Anaphylaxis, Angst and Humor, Awkward Sexual Situations, Divorce, Ficlet Collection, First Time, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Marriage, Minor Original Character(s), Monsters in love, One Shot Collection, Oral Sex, Sex for Favors, Wakes & Funerals, demisexual Peter Lukas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-12 23:11:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21484393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WitchyBee/pseuds/WitchyBee
Summary: Various little Lonely Eyes fics.Chapter 1: Five Times Jonah Magnus Fucked A Lukas For Money (+1 time it was maybe about feelings)Chapter 2: Their first legal marriage.Chapter 3: Peter meets Elias. It's an adjustment for everyone.Chapter 4: A Lukas family funeral.Chapter 5: Jonah discovers his new body is allergic to shellfish.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Other Lukases, Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas, Peter Lukas/Jonah Magnus
Comments: 49
Kudos: 306





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Play Crack the Sky by Brand New.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five Times Jonah Magnus Fucked A Lukas For Money (+1 time it was maybe about feelings)

**1.**

The best thing about petitioning the Lukas family for funding is that they do not talk to each other.

Jonah Magnus is not a poor man, but it takes a great deal of startup capital to establish a respectable research organization, especially one ostensibly dedicated to documenting and studying the paranormal. Still, Jonah can feel the Eye calling him to this, and his own ambitions have never been common. He will do whatever he must to accomplish his goals.

He is a proud man; Jonah will not beg for donations. He does, however, occasionally find himself on his knees, sucking off Mordechai Lukas in the coat room during one of Smirke’s little gatherings.

Mordechai comes with a shuddering exhale, one hand gripping Jonah’s hair. He says nothing as he makes himself presentable again and leaves Jonah alone to do the same. Men like them have no need for words.

Soon the fledgling Magnus Institute will open its doors, thanks in no small part to a generous contribution from Mordechai Lukas.

* * *

**2.**

James (he will need to adjust to the new name, the new everything, really) has a longstanding quarterly meeting with Nathaniel Lukas. He is more of a talker compared to Mordechai, but only by his family's standards.

“Look at you. Always watching. So detached from the people you observe,” he purrs in James' ear, voice soft a little rough from disuse. “You must be very lonely.”

He will be anything Nathaniel wants him to be. For the next twenty-eight minutes, that is.

* * *

**3.**

Elizabeth Lukas is a dull woman. More importantly, however, she is twice widowed and the sole beneficiary of her late husbands’ life insurance policies.

The sex is not particularly enjoyable for him, although Elizabeth can hardly be faulted for that. But it isn’t about his pleasure anyway. His body—this current vessel—is merely a tool to be utilized and one day discarded. The Institute, and his plans beyond it, remains the highest priority.

* * *

**4.**

His Archivist seems increasingly determined to make his life difficult at every turn. Sometimes he is almost certain Gertrude deliberately calculates her expenses to exceed the alotted budget for travel and archival resources (filing supplies, books, C4, etc). Whether her ire is meant for him personally or their patron—or both—he does not know.

Regardless, he turns to Conrad Lukas to make up the difference. He’s getting too old for this, he thinks. Or at least James is.

Not once does Conrad touch him. Apparently he likes to watch, as if this is another one of his little experiments. James can understand that better than most. So he closes his eyes and gets himself off, feeling utterly alone. It could be a lot worse, all things considered.

* * *

**5.**

Peter Lukas is...different.

The captain buys him dinner, insisting it’s the least he can do after all those isolated statement givers that Elias sent his way. It had taken more effort than usual to capture his attention, devoted as Peter is to his calling at sea. No one in the restaurant looks twice at the two men dining together, perhaps assuming—not entirely incorrectly—that they are just business associates. The Lonely’s influence probably helps.

They get a room in a nice hotel; Elias never brings benefactors home. The sex is good. Better than he anticipated, really. Peter is inexperienced but enthusiastic enough and, despite likely being accustomed to giving orders on his ship, he takes direction very well.

“Marry me,” Peter suggests when they both lie sated in the dark, thoroughly shattering the lazy afterglow. His pillow talk could use some work.

“Excuse me?”

“Think about it. Your Institute would never want for funding again.”

“And how exactly would such an arrangement benefit you?”

“I prefer to be alone, of course, but I find your company more tolerable than expected. I like the idea of having you all to myself. Besides, it seems like as good a way as any to tell my family that I have no intention of settling down with some poor lonely girl and producing an heir.”

It sounds almost sensible. They won’t be legally married (or divorced) until years later, but at its core a marriage is a contract, in this case a formal agreement between two servants of close Powers. The Lukases will recognize that, even if they would rather Peter marry a woman. He’s built alliances with far less.

“Yes,” Elias says. “On one condition.”

“Oh?”

“A ring, Peter.”

* * *

**+1**

The prison cot is uncomfortable, and frankly much too narrow for the pair of them, which is without a doubt the only reason Elias presses himself so close against Peter’s cool skin. It isn’t how this usually goes, not at all.

There’s nothing to gain here. No marriage. No money. Peter has the Institute, for now, and soon it will have served its purpose, too.

Yet Elias still wants this. Wants him.

“We may not have much time,” he says.

“Before I win the bet, you mean.”

“Ever the optimist, Peter.”

Change is coming, one way or another. He suspects they won’t both survive. Part of him hopes, foolishly, that when he recreates the world, Peter still has a place within it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their first legal marriage.

Peter does not understand what’s possessed Elias.

Ah, poor choice of words.

Still, he’s acting strange, that’s for sure. Elias had been the one to propose this time, quite out of the blue after months of post-divorce bitterness and silence, which has never happened before, not once in the thirty-ish years of their tumultuous affair. Elias is usually content to watch and wait, ever patient, for Peter to come to him. He always does.

And this time there’s paperwork. Actual, legally-binding paperwork. Maybe that is what has Elias so excited. He’s always enjoyed the finer points of bureaucracy, and there is, of course, the prospect of a considerable payout in the next divorce. And there is always a next one.

You wouldn’t know that, however, the way Elias has been carrying on. As much as Peter loathes direct confrontation, even his curiosity gets the better of him eventually, and he must ask.

“I’ve been waiting a very long time for this,” Elias explains, actually smiling. Peter quickly checks the sky for giant eyeballs, in case the Beholding’s ritual happened when he wasn’t paying attention. But no, it’s just a normal bright spring day, the promise of rain later.

“I didn’t think you cared much for the approval of the state or some god neither of us serve.”

“You know, my patron thrives on the fear of one’s secrets being exposed. I imagine I once fed the Eye very well indeed,” Elias says, almost wistful. “Lovers were fleeting. My wealth and influence afforded me a degree of freedom, but discretion was always paramount.”

Sometimes Peter forgets that Elias—Jonah—is over two centuries old. There is a certain comfort in knowing that his newfound eagerness to marry again has little to do with Peter at all.

“That sounds rather lonely,” Peter remarks, carefully steering the conversation into more familiar waters. He himself has never really wanted anyone but Elias, who is to this day the only thing that can compare to the isolation of Peter’s beloved ship.

“Yes, well, things change, albeit slowly. I suppose there’s something to be said for being seen.”

“You would think that.”

Elias smirks. “I promise you can slink away during the reception, if you like.”

“Reception?” he repeats, slightly alarmed.

“Of course. We’re doing it properly this time, Peter, and that means witnesses, flowers, a cake—everything. I even would’ve asked your father’s permission to propose, if I could have.”

Peter stares at him. Elias has never asked permission for anything in all the decades he’s known him. “No you wouldn’t.”

“No,” he agrees. “I wouldn’t.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter meets Elias. It's an adjustment for everyone.

He’s so young.

It is Peter’s first thought, unbidden and inaccurate, when he sees Elias Bouchard, the new Head of the Magnus Institute. Or, not entirely new, as it happens.

“You could have told me, you know,” Peter says. “I would’ve worn my finest suit. Black, perhaps.”

“I could have,” agrees James–Jonah–Elias, apparently. “But this is hardly a funeral.”

“True enough,” Peter says. “No sign of my mother, for one.”

“Peter,” Elias sighs, and ah yes, that long-suffering tone is all Jonah, “I had Rosie clear my schedule for the next forty-five minutes. Is this really the best time to bring up your family?”

Oh. Always two steps ahead, isn’t he.

“Forty-five minutes?”

“Well, consider it my birthday present, so to speak. Unless you lack the stamina—”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Right then.”

Elias moves the stacks of paperwork off his desk slowly and methodically. It drives Peter a bit mad, which is probably why he does it. Well, besides a genuine concern for the organization of his precious Institute’s papers.

Finally, finally, he loosens his tie.

“Any embarrassing tattoos I should know about?” Peter teases, watching as Elias’ slender, unlined hands unbutton his shirt. It’s taking all the restraint Peter has not to just rip the damn thing off with his teeth.

“You’ll have to find that out for yourself.”

They both know how this arrangement goes. Despite lacking an affinity for the Eye, Peter had mapped out and memorized every inch of James’ skin, had known him as completely as their respective patrons would allow. Yet this man before him is a stranger with familiar eyes.

Driven by impulse or muscle memory, Peter bites his neck just enough to leave a mark. Instead of the wonderful little sound that would normally elicit from James’ throat, however, Elias grows quiet and still in his arms.

“Oh,” Elias breathes, like something has just clicked into place. His eyes are alight with the thrill of knowing. “I’d almost forgotten.”

“What?”

“There will be an adjustment period,” he explains, cryptic as ever, voice brimming with two centuries’ worth of condescension. He is an old hand at this compared to Peter, sure, but it still bristles. “This may call for some...experimentation,” Elias adds, and the annoyance quickly subsides, giving way to more pressing desires.

Perhaps they can make a bit of a game out of it. A new wager, even.

He grabs a fistful of Elias’ dark hair—funny, now Peter is the one going grey—and kisses him hard. It feels like the first time, a little awkward and unpracticed, but Elias deepens the kiss, eagerly exploring Peter’s mouth with his new tongue.

He can feel the Eye’s heavy gaze upon them, keen to discover and devour. It’s almost more than he can bear. Peter thinks about James, shrouding himself in the comfortable cold loneliness of missing someone who isn’t really gone.

This strategy is quite effective, at least until Elias removes his trousers.

“Well, well,” Peter remarks, “You certainly do know how to pick them.”

“It wasn’t my primary consideration,” he says modestly.

“But it was a factor, I assume?”

Elias grins—and oh, that really is unfair—but doesn’t dignify his question with an answer, which suits him just fine. Peter can think of several things he would much rather be doing with his mouth right now than talk.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Lukas family funeral.

“Isn’t that the suit you wore to our last wedding?” Peter asks.

“No. I haven’t worn this since...I believe it was the Institute’s centennial gala.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “Really, Elias, if you needed a new one, you could’ve just asked.”

“Says the man who has worn that exact same suit to the past three family funerals and yet still can’t manage to tie his own tie properly.”

“I could if you weren’t so distracting.”

“Come here,” Elias huffs, with exaggerated impatience that only just betrays the fondness lurking beneath. Peter is a sailor who comes from old money; he can, of course, tie a perfectly serviceable Half Windsor knot, and they both know it. The truth is, then, that he obliges because he enjoys the carefully measured intimacy in this pretense. The way Elias can never resist showing off with some absurdly complex knot, his hands lingering for a few moments more than strictly necessary.

A new diamond ring glints upon Elias' finger. They have been remarried for two days now. But Peter was called home, so, rather than an exotic honeymoon in Greece, they are going to Kent for his aunt's funeral.

Elias steps back to assess his handiwork. Then his eyes (all of them) slowly survey the rest of Peter's body, that prodigious gaze keen to gently pull him apart. He lets himself fade into the Lonely until the watched feeling subsides.

"I suppose that will have to do," Elias says.

"Are you going to be like this at the funeral?" Peter asks, dreading the answer. Elias still hasn't entirely forgiven him for last year's Institute holiday party.

"We shall see, hmm?"

* * *

Nothing brings the whole Lukas family together quite like death. Here they all are, gathered in the parlor around a polished wooden casket. Funerals are always such a drab and solemn affair, but Peter does appreciate this occasional reminder of why he chose a solitary life at sea. There is his mother, for example, dressed in black and, unlike her dear departed sister, apparently still alive.

“Were you close with Cynthia Lukas?” Elias asks him. The insufferable man hasn’t stopped asking questions since they arrived at Moorland House. Nor has he left Peter’s side for even a second, clinging to his arm as if he fears being lost in the crowd of pale mourners. Elias isn’t afraid, of course. He is at times, however, remarkably petty.

“None of us are close, as you well know.”

He can count on one hand the number of times he spoke to Aunt Cynthia. By all accounts she’d been a devoted servant of Forsaken, who died alone in her flat. They should all be so lucky.

“When was the last time you saw her?”

Peter sighs, already wishing for the Tundra. “Must have been Evan’s funeral.”

“Ah yes. We have a statement about that one. I swear, you Lukases are like mayflies."

"Compared to you and Simon, maybe."

God, it is impossible to focus on anything else when Elias is...well, _looking_ at him like that. His displays of affection are subtle by most standards, but the family is sure to notice, and many will consider it an affront to their patron, especially now. It’s an easy thing to be lonely in a room full of people. Easier still to be alone and in love. Elias doesn’t even have the decency to pretend, though.

While they wouldn’t openly object, thanks to a disdain for direct confrontation inherent in the Lukas bloodline, the family never have fully supported their relationship, either. Not because of the Beholding or all the money it has cost Peter, or even because he married—then divorced and remarried—a man. No, they disapprove because it is Elias. Jonah, more accurately. Being the favorite son does have some perks, though. It affords him a certain amount of acceptable disappointment.

“Peter.”

Ah. And here it comes.

“Good evening, Nathaniel,” says Elias pleasantly. “It’s nice to see you again. A shame it couldn’t be under better circumstances. How are you?”

“My mother is dead,” he states, tone clipped and cold. “The burial is family only. You must leave.”

Peter would be willing to bet there’s a good chance, at this point, that Elias may back down and give up this little game. He never gambles anything he’s not prepared to lose, which definitely includes his Institute’s funding. But...why not raise the stakes just a bit?

“He is family,” Peter insists.

Nathaniel glares at them but, he notes, avoids meeting Elias’ eyes.

“This is not over,” says his cousin, before leaving them alone once more.

It never is.

"You know, if you're not careful, I'll be cut out of my mother's will," Peter warns, leaning in to press a quick kiss to Elias’ jaw. "And then where would that leave you?"

Elias briefly considers the question. "Single, I imagine."

He’d expected nothing less.

They file out with the other black-clad figures and slowly make their way across the grounds toward the graveyard, fog curling around their ankles. The sky is fittingly gray and dark with impending rain. It seems his childhood home hasn’t changed at all in the intervening years.

“This reminds me a bit of my own funeral,” Elias says wistfully. Peter isn’t the only one feeling nostalgic.

“And I wasn’t invited?”

“Well, you weren’t born yet,” he points out. “Honestly, you didn’t miss much. Most of my contemporaries were either dead or bound to a patron themselves. The highlight was when Jonathan Fanshawe, despite not being far from the grave himself, put in a brief appearance to spit on the coffin. It was empty, of course, but everyone appreciates being remembered.”

“Not everyone,” Peter says.

Elias takes his hand in the rising fog. “Oh, come on, surely even you must want to be remembered after the End.”

As they stand beside Aunt Cynthia’s open grave, Peter doesn’t think about her, or his own mortality. He considers Jonah Magnus, who, out of hubris and fear, did everything in his power to evade death then attended his own mockery of a funeral. Maybe he will remember Peter one day. Perhaps he’ll be missed. There isn’t a great deal he can do about that, really.

If anything in the world will be the death of him, Peter thinks, tracing a thumb over Elias’ wedding ring, it is this.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonah discovers his new body is allergic to shellfish.

It’s easier than one might expect to overlook the small things, given all that Elias must keep watch over at once. He knows attending Simon’s 413th birthday party has been a grave mistake as soon as he eats the shrimp. His brain is immediately flooded with a powerful rush of neurochemicals that, if he were human, would be called fear.

“Peter—”

He Sees, unbidden, an EpiPen in the pocket of an old hoodie once belonging to this body’s original occupant. It is still there in artefact storage, the Eye helpfully informs him, forgotten under a desk. Except Elias isn’t in the Institute right now. No, he’s in Cornwall, in a sprawling mansion with so many empty rooms it’s dizzying merely to consider the scale of it.

He’s dizzy enough as it is at the moment.

“Is your dear chap feeling unwell?” Simon asks Peter, more amused than concerned. “He’s gone almost as pale as you are.”

Elias is categorically not well at all, but he’s also determined to avoid causing a scene and appearing weak in front of fickle allies. This goal becomes increasingly difficult with every passing second. He can’t breathe. His hand clutches at his rapidly swelling throat on its own accord.

“—ias? Jonah?”

A larger hand, this one rough and cool, gently touches his sweating forehead. Elias realizes, abruptly, that he isn’t standing anymore. He is on the ground, curled up against the solid warmth of Peter’s chest. There’s a heavy coat draped over Elias’ shoulders that smells strongly of brine. He feels slightly sick.

“Well, it wasn’t me,” Simon is saying, a bit defensive. “Not intentionally, anyway. This place can make some people a touch lightheaded, you know.”

Thanks to his patron, Elias knows exactly what is happening to him, of course. He knows his heart rate, precisely how much his blood pressure has dropped in the past five minutes, and approximately how long remains until he loses consciousness.

He tries to speak, to convey this information as concisely as possible, but all he can manage is a strangled wheezing sound. So instead he closes his eyes and uses the last of his energy to project the knowledge directly into Peter’s mind.

“Ah, I see!” Peter, damn him, sounds rather delighted by the whole situation. “It’s the shrimp, Simon.”

“Oh? What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing at all. Elias here just neglected to do his homework.”

He gives Peter a sharp look which he hopes effectively communicates his desire for another divorce as well as the absolute certainty that, should he die in Peter’s arms because of a shrimp, Elias’ vengeful ghost will haunt him for the rest of his life, ensuring that Peter is never alone.

He doesn’t die, though, in the end. Simon tells him later that Peter had apparently vanished anyone who impeded his medical treatment. Fascinating, if true.

Elias files for a divorce the next day, and Peter goes to sea for three and a half months. They never discuss the incident again.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr @podcastenthusiast.


End file.
